Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Books By This Author

  Chapter 1

  Anwen was a 5’7 tall arts student, and an aspiring painter. At 23 y.o., she had already had two exhibitions – one at her college, and one at the gallery in the nearby city. She also had won a lot art contests before she went to college, but that was just a funny tidbit in her mind. A little proof that art was the most important thing in her life. Well, one of the most important things in her life. For, although it had a place in her heart, it was not its owner.

  That title belonged to her middle-aged arts professor, who was completely unaware and oblivious when it came to her feelings towards him. His heart did belong to his paintings. To the act of painting. He loved painting flowers, buildings, landscapes, and still life. But not people.

  It wasn’t that he disliked his fellow human beings. It was that no one had ever caught his eye so far, neither as a model nor as a person. Outside of commissioned work, and maybe a gift for someone once in a blue moon, he did not paint portraits nor anything elaborate that required recreating the human form on canvas or paper.

  And it was quite a shame that he didn’t. Because, while he was well-off and quite successful already, both due to luck and sheer skill, he was not known by name. Or a pseudonym. Even people who did not enjoy art on daily basis or were total amateurs could see how fine and well done his work was. A few people even recommended him when it came to commissions. But he did not make any paintings, or evens sketches, that would strike that one special note with the general public. Nor any paintings that would actually show his heart.

  He just did not have it in him. And he had come to accept this. He focused on teaching and mentoring, occasionally shifting his focus to painting landscapes or the odd commission he got from a friend of a friend of a friend.

  He was a tall, slim man with short-ish thick, gray straight hair, which he wore swept to the side. He dressed in a white shirt and a black vest, combined with skinny fit black trousers. He was quite elegant, and it was a mystery how he almost never got dirty, even though everyone had seen him painting, and quite fast at that!

  As a person, he was patient, helpful and quiet. A bit withdrawn, even. It made him look mysterious to most, but Anwen was able to see through it. She knew he was just drifting through life with no discernible destination. He told her so himself one day, when she stayed late to help him clean up after seeing him spend the Christmas break still coming to the campus almost every day. She was also there, yes, but because she was working on a project. Not because she had no one to spend the break with at home or nothing else to bring her a semblance of joy or at least keep her occupied. Unlike him.

  It was not a love at first sight. Or maybe it was. She did not directly look at him until the start of the current semester. She was too engrossed by her own art until then. She knew that she wouldn’t be doing him any favors by flirting with him as a jobless student (she did get commissions of her own, but she did see it as a reliable source of income). So she tried to get closer to him as a friend. Or just a friendly student. And it worked.

  It worked, but only as far as anything else would work on him. The man lived in his own mind. And his own mind lived on his canvas. When they had painting sessions together, he looked at her paintings, praised her and gave her advice. He even asked her to add a few touches to one of his paintings, for sentimental reasons. But he did not look at her.

  One time, when they were painting together, she asked him:

  “Professor, what is it that you really want from life?” it was a random question, but they both felt pretty laid back that day.

  “From life?” he hesitated for a moment. He came to accept his life as it was. He even enjoyed not having to partition his time after clocking out of work. “A beautiful model, I guess.”

  Anwen blushed. Did she just get him to talk about his romantic urges? “Like… a trophy wife?” she asked, and was about to apologize for saying it that way, but he answered:

  “A trophy wife? Why would I… Oh, my! It did sound like this, didn’t it? No, no, nothing like that! I meant a beautiful model to sit for me. Someone, preferably a woman, who would be so beautiful she would make me able to enjoy painting the human form in and of itself. You see, I enjoy the portrait commissions I once told you about. I enjoy making the customer happy. And making some cash. But mainly making the customer happy. Yet, I can never bring myself to enjoy the process.” he said and went back to painting.

  Normally, he would ask a similar question back. But, judging by his expression and the tone of his voice, she really made him think about this topic. So she didn’t pry any further. She was young, but she already knew what it meant to feel like you missed your shot. She hoped this was not what was eating at him. She preferred not to salt the wound too much in one session, even if it was necessary to get to know him in the long run.

  Later that day, she sat down with her sketchpad and painted a silhouette of a woman she thought to be beautiful. And crumpled up the paper. This was what women think to be beautiful. Or what clothes sell well on. Or men like the same way they like a beautiful landscape, a fast sports car or a pure, innocent, feminine angel in a picture or in a movie. Not what men ACTUALLY like.

  She pulled her head back and thought hard. She wished she looked like that. She was not quite sure what “that” meant, but she wanted to be “that”. Then, she could be his model. She would never swap painting for modelling. Unless it was for him. She closed her eyes and wished with all her heart to have the body of a woman who would charm essentially everyone around her. To look so good, everyone would find her beautiful AND attractive.

  “Uhh!” two stings on her chest, like two little pinches, interrupted her silent prayer.

  She looked down. Everything looked the same. Her chest was almost flat. Overall, she resembled a slightly shorter version of a supermodel. Her hips were narrow and boyish. Her waist was slim, but not very pronounced. She ran her fingers up her own chest to check if anything was out of order. It was all fine until…

  “Oh!” she pulled her fingers away after their tips caused a completely new feeling to wash all over her by moving two weird nubs. Nubs she could now see under her loose, beige t-shirt.

  Chapter 2

  Anwen was standing in front of a mirror, completely undressed. She wondered, just hypothetically, would she make the cut to be his model? Most likely not. But it was still nice to dream, about anything, really, every once in a while, wasn’t it?

  She was about to sigh with disappointment and get dressed again, when she noticed that her nipples looked bigger. And darker. They used to be a very pale shade of pink. Now, they were intensely pink. Like a candy. This was not abnormal, she even looked… better this way. But how come she did not notice this earlier?

  They didn’t just look bigger. They were bigger. She touched the edges of her areolas, merely one inch in diameter, and instantly felt a weird kind of warmth wash all over her nipples.

  “Mmm… Mmm…” she felt them throb and tense up. “Mmmm…” she moaned softly, pressing her lips together as her areolas expanded right in front of her eyes.

  First, they started spreading over her breasts until they reached about two inches in diameter. “Mm!” she moaned with dread. They looked way too big like this! She had huge salami nipples on top of her tiny, A cup breasts. But her nipples were not done just yet!

  They started getting puffy. Their areolas went from flat slices of pink salami to puffy, sensitive cones, topped off with nipples the size and firmness of pencil erasers. This was even worse! She looked like puberty had played a nasty trick of her, and left her flat as a board with huge nipples, without even “finishing” said nipples off!

  Her worries, however, were premature. The tips of her nipples began tingling. They were almost itchy, but she did not want to scratch them. They needed… rubbing. Fighting through the unbearable stimulation, she put the tips of her index fingers on top of them and began stroking them.

  “Mmm… Mmm… Mmm…” she slowly picked up the pace, going in circles.

  The itch did not go away. Quite the opposite, it kept growing stronger! She bit her lip and stared in horror, still rubbing the tips of her nipples, as the sensitive little buttons under her fingers increased in size. She could feel them growing, feel them pushing, feel them getting thicker…

  “Ohh!” she forced herself to pull her hands away and stared at the two undeniably protruding nipples. Each of them was about an inch in length and at least half an inch in thickness. The nipples now matched the areolas. But the whole set did not match the breasts!

  She tried putting on one of her bras. She could kiss goodbye not only not wearing a bra on the days she did not feel like it, but also forget wearing unpadded bras altogether! These things poked out like two fingers pointing at something. This was horrible! Not to mention the rubbing of the

soft fabric against the tips of her newly grown nipples. It drove her crazy.

  She pulled the bra off and winced, seeing her salami pacifiers of a pair of nipples. Pacifiers… she shuddered. She did want children, and she did intend to breastfeed if she had biological ones. But the nipples she suddenly got looked like she already had, and multiple times at that!

  She was about to start putting her pajamas on. It’s not like she had many other options. Maybe she didn’t look the most proportional in the chest area, but she still looked normal. Unusual, but within the norm, that is. That’s when she felt her nipples tingle again. No, not her nipples… The tiny lumps behind her nipples which were her actual breasts. The parts meant to feed her hypothetical baby one day.

  “Ugggghhhh…” she stopped midway, trying to pick up her pajama from the bottom drawer. The pressure kept increasing. That’s when it started.

  “Gggggghhhh!” she crossed her arms against her chest.

  The feeling was horrible! And… arousing. She could feel her skin stretching, her chest getting heavier… She straightened up and looked into the mirror. She was squishing two mounds under her arms. This felt so weird. Her huge nipples were peeking between her forearms. She dared not touch their sensitive, throbbing tips.

  “Nnngghh!” she whimpered as she felt another push.

  Her breasts kept pushing, stretching her skin and increasing in size until she could feel them pressing against each other. She had cleavage now! She moved her arms away. She. Had. Cleavage. Only when she pressed her breasts together, but still!

  Her breasts were not done yet. “Ohhhh…!” they pushed forward again, until they reached the size of small apples. She thought they were done, but no. “Ahhhhh…” she saw and felt them getting even rounder, and her nipples… They got hard! So much so that her conical areolas flattened. But just a little bit. They still looked deliciously puffy.

  “Ohh…” she let out a single moan of disbelief and pleasure as she pressed her hands against the two mounds. They were almost too big for her hands! Still too small for her nipples, but more than big enough for her. But, let’s not forget, the perfect woman ought to have the perfect proportions!

  “Nnnghh… Nnngghh… Nnn…” she felt tingling and pressure return to her breasts and appear in her hips, too. “Nnn… Nnooo… You’re big enough…” she squeezed her breasts, still finding it hard to believe that she had grown what was most likely a big C cup pair of breasts (big cup, narrow band, a pair of large oranges sticking out from her chest, essentially) and would need to buy an ACTUAL bra now.

  It was time for her to have something to offer the potential viewer both above and below the waist. “Uhhhh…” her sides started to hurt. She was lucky she wasn’t wearing any pants. She felt the pressure build up and… “Nnnnggghh!” both of her hips pushed out at the same time, slowly and methodically. Once they started making her waist look narrow, she put her hands down and tried to stop them. But it was no use. Moaning, whimpering and squirming, she grew a foot and a half wide pair of hips. All the pressing helped her achieve was feeling her breasts swing on her chest for the first time.

  The hips looked a bit too broad compared to her breasts now. A model shouldn’t have disproportions in such crucial areas, should she? It was time to fix this, so her breasts pushed out again.

  “Nnngghh… No… No… I don’t want to be…” she pleaded, crossing her arms under her newly grown mounds, feeling the boob flesh spill over them. She shut her eyes, feeling them just keep growing and her skin getting tighter. “… this big…?” she forced herself to look up into the mirror. And it hit her. From the neck down, she looked… Perfect!

  Yes, she did have nipples larger than those of a feeding mother now. And areolas as puffy as if she got stuck in some youthful stage of blossoming. But her small melons made them look proportional. She lifted up her hands and winced as she realized that it was possible to see the sides of her melon mammaries from behind now.

  They took up most of her chest. They went beyond her chest. She could feel them press against her chest and go up and down with each breath she took. “Eeeggh!” she groaned for the last time, as they pulled down slightly harder, becoming a pair of perky teardrops instead of just perky orbs.

  There it was. The perfect body. Combined with her hips, with which she would knock off a few things from her desk in the morning, her breasts and those huge, inviting nipples gave her the body of the perfect woman… She did not like this body per se. But she knew what chances such a body would give her when it came to giving her professor the model he wanted.

  Filled with anxiety, half-hoping this was all a dream, and half-praying it was not, she hit the hay. She could feel the duvet caress her huge breasts, rubbing against the tips of her nipples with each breath she took, and her hips making a bigger indentation in the mattress than they ever had before. From the neck down, she looked picture perfect. And she knew it.

  Chapter 3

  It was challenging to get through the day with these things without having a proper bra. She put on another one of her slightly baggy t-shirts, a pink one this time, and her nipples stuck out so much she could poke an eye out. She crossed her hands a lot and tried not to draw attention to herself. By some miracle, it worked. And even if it didn’t, unless someone had literally shouted at her “hey, nips!” or something like that, she would not have noticed.

  Her shirt kept rubbing against the tips of her nipples. Everything around reminded her of the professor. This in turn made her nipples get erect, making her wince in discomfort. She hated being reminded that her range of motion was now limited. Not drastically so, of course, but she couldn’t even wash her teeth in the morning without bumping into her “fresh melons” with her forearms or elbows. She couldn’t see her toes. And she couldn’t even pull books out of her bag without her breasts getting in the way. Or at least hanging down and swinging from her chest with all their weight. And they were quite heavy.

  Her once comfortably loose, but not baggy t-shirt was now incredibly tight. She was at her wits end, but then the time came for the thing she even got out of her room in this state. Their painting session!

  “Hello, professor…” she said, walking into the studio, letting her breasts swing free from her chest. Once again, it was only them. No one bothered staying this long at this time of year. It was snowing and already getting dark outside.

  “… oh, hello Anwen!” it appeared she had got him out of a brooding spell. Until then, he was standing by the windowsill and watching the snow fall. Outside, it was cold. But not in an unpleasant manner. The warm, slightly dimmed yellow lights in the classroom made the winter scenery look cozy.

  “Professor, I’d like to try something new today…” she began, but he cut her off, still not having looked at her.

  “Right after I’m done with my painting, alright? You can finish off your own work in the meantime, too.” he go to his canvas and she got to hers.

  They painted in silence for about half an hour. She was getting nervous. She glanced at him. He was done, now only considering final touches, shaking his head and lowering his hand each time. It was now or never.

  “Professor, would you paint me?” she blurted out.

  “Paint you?” he was yanked out of his own world once again. He glanced at her. And that’s when he noticed. “Anwen…” he looked at her face carefully to make sure it was her. “Did you… never mind…” he muttered, starting to make gestures at his own chest and dropping his hands almost immediately.

  “I… I don’t know how this happened!” on some level, she was glad he at least remembered what she looked like. Even if only from glancing at her with complete lack of physical interest just as he would at a chair or a tree. “Would you?” she got back to her question.

  “I… You know how I feel about painting…” he didn’t get to finish as she bent forward, wincing and pressing her lips together.

  He could hardly believe what he was seeing. Right in front of his very own eyes, her hair started growing. Her light brown, straight, barely shoulder-length hair started growing. And curling. And getting lighter, until it reached the most beautiful, pure golden shade of blonde he had ever seen. The strands stopped only once they had reached her waist.

 

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